


Just a Little Stress Relief

by ellebeedarling



Series: No Shepard Without Vakarian [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Brief Reference to Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Some Fluff, custom Shepard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9379226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebeedarling/pseuds/ellebeedarling
Summary: Garrus goes to Shepard's quarters after Virmire to offer his Commander a little stress relief. They both get something they hadn't planned on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a crazy idea I had that got out of control - like most of my ideas. It's mostly just smut with a smattering of plot. There's not enough m!shep/Garrus lovin' on the webs. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Garrus clears his throat when the Commander doesn't look up. Shepard is sitting on the foot of his bed with his head in his hands, and when his brown eyes meet the turian's blue ones, Garrus suddenly thinks maybe he's made a mistake.

 

“Something you need, Garrus?” It's not angry, just... tired, resigned. The mission was already taking its toll on the human. Everyone could see it, though he was trying desperately not to let them. How could it not? Now with Alenko's death, Garrus was... worried about the man. It was obvious – even to the aliens – that the Commander and the Lieutenant had feelings for each other. They both played it off, but they didn't do a very good job of hiding it.

 

The turian clears his throat again. “I... just wanted to make sure you're... doing okay.”

 

Shepard makes a noise that might have been a laugh once upon a time, but now just sounds bitter. “No... I'm not.” A rare admission. He scratches his chin, fingernails rasping in the days growth of beard. Come morning, that will be gone, and his currently tousled hair will be smoothed back into place. For now, his appearance is the least of his concerns. “Feel like getting drunk, Garrus?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I do,” the turian replies. “I'll be right back.”

 

Shepard is sitting at the table in the center of his room with a bottle of some amber liquid that Garrus can't read the name of, when he returns, his own bottle of blue liquid clutched in his hand. They don't bother with the pretense of glasses. Shepard clinks his bottle against Garrus', and they drink. They're silent until they're both feeling the fuzzy effects of the booze, then Shepard starts rambling. His feelings for the lieutenant tumble out, unhindered, and he doesn't even seem to regret it. Someone should know, he confesses. He'd never quite worked up the nerve to tell the lieutenant, himself. Garrus doesn't bother pointing out that everyone already knew. That Shepard is not as good at hiding his emotions as he likes to think he is. Now's not the time.

 

His cheek is propped on his palm, and one hand is splayed on the table, fingernail scratching at some unseen spot on the surface. Garrus takes a chance. His three fingered hand stretches across the table and comes to rest on top of the Commander's. “If there's anything you need, Shepard... let me know.”

 

Bleary brown eyes come up to meet blue, and he sees Shepard's throat move as he swallows. “I...,” he glances away. Garrus thinks he looks ashamed. The turian starts to pull his hand away, but Shepard grips it. “Don't go.” He's staring at the table in front of him, and Garrus' heart actually aches for the man. “Garrus, I...,” he has no voice, the words are forced out on the air escaping his lungs, and the turian stands pulling the human to his feet.

 

“You need some stress relief,” he announces, and Shepard looks at him, startled, while Garrus smirks. “It's common on turian ships,” he explains. “Don't worry, Shepard. It doesn't have to be anything more than that.”

 

“But-”

 

“If you don't want to, I'll go. But... if you need me in that way, I'm here. Tomorrow things will be exactly as they were before this moment.”

 

Shepard barely hesitates before his lips are pressed against the hard plates of the turian's mouth. It's odd, for both of them, but Garrus will admit that it's more pleasant than he imagined it would be. Shepard's lips are soft and pliable, but almost cold in comparison to Garrus' own skin. For his part, the Commander finds the leathery feel of Garrus' mouth surprisingly smooth. He thought it would be more like sandpaper.

 

Garrus almost pulls away when Shepard's small pink tongue darts out to trace along the edges of his mouth, but he's glad he resisted when the feel of it draws a deep rumble out of his chest. The Commander huffs a laugh that contains more humor than his previous attempt, then dares to push his tongue past the plates and into the turian's mouth. Garrus is at a loss for a moment. No lips means that kissing is not an integral part of turian foreplay, though he's seen enough human movies to know that it is for their species. But he's never done it. Shepard takes the lead – as always – gripping the back of the turian's neck and holding him in place while his tongue explores his mouth. Tentatively, Garrus responds with his own tongue, gaining confidence when the Commander moans at the contact.

 

He could get used to this kissing thing.

 

“Tell me where it feels good,” Shepard says, moving his lips away from Garrus' mouth and down to his mandible. He flicks his tongue over the tip of it, and Garrus' strangled moan makes the Commander laugh again. He repeats the action, then draws the tip of it into his mouth, suckling gently, and Garrus' hands flex on Shepard's waist, breathing going raspy all of a sudden. “Good, I take it?”

 

“Good.”

 

Shepard seems smugly satisfied with himself as he gazes up into the turian's eyes with a hint of mirth shining in his own. Garrus huffs, but doesn't protest when the Commander offers the same treatment to the other mandible. Shepard's hand – all those fingers – trails up the turian's neck, kneading as he goes until he inadvertently finds that sensitive spot just under the fringe that has Garrus purring. Shepard snickers and presses against the spot again earning himself a lascivious moan from the turian. “Also good?”

 

“Also good,” the turian pants, feeling the need to turn the tables on the smug bastard. He brings his hand up to card through Shepard's mop of yellowish brown hair. It's normally more tamed than it is at the moment, but Garrus can imagine how the man was rubbing it in frustration before his arrival. Shepard hums softly as talons scrape over his scalp. He seems to enjoy it, but it's not the reaction Garrus was hoping for. This action seems to be putting him to sleep.

 

Shepard decides to throw him a bone and pulls his shirt off, guiding the turian's hands to his nipples. Garrus flicks a thumb over each one, and the Commander arches his body toward the turian, hands gripping tightly on the back of his neck. “Good?” Garrus asks, and Shepard simply nods, resting his forehead against the turian's chest.

 

“I need...” Shepard can't finish the thought. He brings their mouths together again, and fumbles with the claps on Garrus' armor until he figures out how they work and starts popping the seals, armor clattering to the floor. His moves become frantic when his cold hands are finally pressed against the turian's burning skin. “You're so hot,” he mutters.

 

“Thank you,” Garrus replies with a smirk. Shepard snorts, continuing his explorations, his many digits making the turian feel warm inside despite the fact that humans are several degrees colder than his own species. Garrus lets his hands roam the smooth skin of the Commander's torso and back. The scars are plentiful, as are the strange colorful markings – tattoos humans call them. Shepard is nearly covered with them, but only on parts of his skin that can't be seen when he's wearing his uniform. Garrus has seen them before – in the communal shower – but now he takes the time to trace the outlines of them. Shepard seems to enjoy this. Some of them are words, some symbols and some pictures. Maybe one day he will be able to get the man to explain what they mean to him.

 

“I need you naked, Vakarian,” he finally grinds out between clenched teeth. “And... do you have an antihistamine?” So the man has done his research? Interesting. Garrus pulls up his omni-tool and administers the dose. Shepard mirrors his actions, then they both take a moment to shed the rest of their clothing.

 

The Commander is already half hard, but Garrus is still fully plated. Shepard looks between his legs, and frowns slightly. “You have to coax it out,” Garrus explains, feeling slightly embarrassed. Shepard nods, then a grin spreads his face, and he pushes the turian toward the bed. Garrus situates himself as the Commander crawls up between his legs, and suddenly he feels nervous. He doesn't have a ton of experience with his own species. He has zero experience with humans. There was that one night with that asari, but they are anatomically closer to human females than males. At least he has been with a few males of his own species. He figures this encounter will be somewhat similar.

 

To his credit, Shepard doesn't flinch. Bracing himself on one arm, he brings his other hand up to trail all those fingers up and down the seam between the turian's groin plates, grinning when they slowly start to separate. He glances up at Garrus who is watching him intently, eyes going wide when Shepard lowers his head and swipes his tongue up the trail his fingers had just been traversing. The turian makes a strangled noise, and Shepard lets out a low growl, repeating the action. It amazes Garrus how nimble and flexible those lips are, and the Commander puts them to good use, nibbling along the edges of the plates as they slide further open. It isn't long before the turian is fully unsheathed, and Shepard gives his cock an appraising once over finally looking up at him and grinning wickedly.

 

Shepard rises up the bed and presses their mouths together again before leaning over to rummage through the nightstand. He brings out two condoms, tossing one on the bed for the time being and tearing the other one open with his teeth. He rolls it onto the turian, thankful that it will work. Garrus is longer but thinner than Shepard is. His cock has a bluish tint to it, and instead of a blunt, rounded head, his comes to a point – which actually makes more sense when he thinks about it. With the condom in place, he feels more confident in what he's about to do next. It wouldn't do to have Commander Shepard out of commission due to giving a turian a blow job. That wasn't a report he wanted to write.

 

He kisses his way back down the turian's body, pausing to pay some extra attention to the man's waist when he hits upon a spot that causes Garrus to hiss and buck his hips. When he adds his fingers along with his tongue, the turian grips his hair and pulls – almost too hard. “Too much,” Garrus pants. Shepard nods and continues downward. He grips Garrus' cock and runs his tongue around the strange head of it, and the turian curses, twisting his fingers into the blanket. When Shepard takes him to the back of his throat, Garrus' sub vocals go crazy. “Spirits,” he moans, his deep flanging voice reverberating throughout his body to the point that it tickles the Commander's lips.

 

Shepard's eyes are smiling though his lips are too occupied to move that way, and he pulls off to catch his breath before diving back down, working his hand at the base of the too long cock as his mouth does things that Garrus is pretty sure are illegal in some systems. “Okay, okay,” the turian pants. “I'm... not going to last if you keep doing that.”

 

“So... good?” The Commander's smirk is back in place, and it's so good to see it that Garrus doesn't even feel the need to make some wise-ass comment back to him.

 

“Good. Very good.”

 

With a hum of delight, the Commander digs in the drawer again for some lubricant and presses it into the turian's palm before flopping onto his back and gazing up expectantly. Garrus squirts a dollop onto his hand and shifts to give himself a better angle before taking Shepard's cock in hand. He strokes the Commander the way he likes to stroke himself, and that seems to be working. Shepard's head falls back, eyes rolling into his head, and he lets out a sound that has Garrus' cock twitching in response. Shepard takes the turian's other hand and moves it down the cleft of his ass until he's got one finger pressed against his entrance. When he opens his eyes, they lock with the turian's, and he gives a quick nod of permission.

 

Garrus applies more lube before massaging the taut ring of muscle and pushing a finger into it. He continues stroking the man, and Shepard begins to lose his careful control, writhing slightly on the bed. “Curl your finger forward,” he encourages, and Garrus complies. “Oh fuck yes, there!” Shepard bows off the bed, sucking in air through clenched teeth when Garrus brushes against his prostate. The turian rumbles in pleasure at this new discovery, and taps against the nerves again just to watch Shepard come undone. “Fuck me, Garrus! Shit! I need it!”

 

He removes his finger and rolls himself onto the Commander, lubing his cock before pressing it against the man's entrance. Shepard allows him to put his legs where he wants them – namely, hooked over the turian's protruding hip bones. Then Garrus pushes forward into him, and Shepard curses again, hands clutching the the turian's arms. “Ready,” Garrus asks, and the Commander nods vigorously. He withdraws and slides easily back in before pulling out again only to slam himself home the second time. Shepard's whole body rocks with the force of the movement, but his muttered encouragements spur the turian on.

 

For a long while, they don't speak, other than incoherent babble that neither translator can decipher. The turian moves in and out of his Commander, movements strong and sure and forceful. Shepard is trembling with the need to release, but he tries to hold out. Just a little longer. Garrus seems to remember the reaction he got from the bundle of nerves and shifts his angle to try and strike that spot again. He knows he's successful when Shepard cries out and bucks his hips up violently. “Again,” he demands, and Garrus is helpless to do anything but obey. “Fucking hell, Garrus... I'm... gonna come,” and the turian glances down in time to see the viscous, white fluid that erupts from the tip of the Commander's cock. The sight of it makes Garrus weak in the knees, and he follows behind his Commander, just like he's done for the last few months – just like he always will.

 

They spend several minutes tangled around each other, fingers trailing over sweat damp skin. Shepard presses those soft lips against the turian again and again. “Thank you, Garrus,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleepiness.

 

“Anytime, Commander.”

 

Shepard huffs a laugh. “You can call me Tristan when you're in my bed, Garrus.”

 

“Anytime... Tristan.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about the response to this little story! Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos! They keep me motivated and writing more. This story is only a short little thing, but I'm already thinking about doing a sequel or possibly another mshakarian altogether. We shall see. 
> 
> For now... enjoy some more of our babies and their smutty goodness!

“That's why I'm glad you're here, Garrus. If I'm walking into hell, I want you with me.”

 

“You do realize that this plan has me walking into hell, too?”

 

It's been a long two years. Garrus is so damn glad to see this man that he's having a hard time maintaining his professional decorum. What he wants is to bend him over this table and fuck him senseless, and he knows Shepard would probably not be averse to the idea. They've done it often enough... before.

 

After Alenko's death, their stress relief became a more regular thing. Until Shepard went and died on him that is. During the last two years, Garrus had come to the horrifying realization that it had long since stopped being simple stress relief, or even hero worship, that he'd been feeling whenever Shepard would walk into the cargo bay and give him that _look_. The look that had Garrus' plates shifting without the Commander even having to touch him. The look that made his feet move of their own volition toward the elevator and carried him to the captain's cabin.

 

He'd missed the feel of those soft lips and many fingers and all the sumptuous things they could do for him, but more than that, he'd missed Shepard's crooked smile and the way his brown eyes gazed up at him through his long lashes as Garrus moved within him and above him. He'd missed his laugh and his dry, corny wit. He'd missed the way Shepard's eyelids fluttered when Garrus touched him just so. The way they'd begun cuddling together after their stress relief sessions. The way he sometimes rattled off stories of his childhood on Mindoir before the batarians destroyed everything he loved, while trailing his fingers lightly along the turian's waist.

 

They stare at each other now, neither knowing how to proceed from this point forward. “I'm... going to go settle in at the forward battery,” Garrus finally says. “Come see me when you get the chance?”

 

Shepard holds his gaze for a few more moments, then nods once. Watching him as he leaves. When he finally comes to into the battery, his sandy hair is tousled. Garrus knows that means he's been wrestling with himself, and the turian smirks at him. “In need of a little stress relief?”

 

Shepard's brown eyes widen, but then a look of pure relief washes his features clean. The next instant, those lips are on his mouth and Shepard is moaning into the contact. Garrus moans with him, arms wrapping around his much smaller human frame and drawing him close. Shepard isn't a small man. Not by human standards, but to Garrus, he almost feels fragile sometimes when he's holding him in his arms. And with the way the man melts against him, he's convinced that Shepard is feeling pretty fragile himself at the moment.

 

“I'm so glad I found you,” he mumbles as his lips move toward the turian's still-good mandible.

 

“I've missed you,” Garrus confesses. “It's been a long two years.”

 

Shepard stops and gazes up at him, eyelids already heavy from his arousal. His fingers come up to trace over the blue lines etched into the turian's face. “I'm sorry,” he says. “It's not how I wanted things to be.”

 

“Me either.” Garrus isn't sure they're talking about the same thing right now, but he doesn't care. He knows what he feels, and one day he'll work up the nerve to tell the man. For now, he just needs to feel him. To be inside him. To know that he's really here and alive.

 

The Commander's lips return to his, and their practiced fingers make short work of the clothing that separates their bodies from one another. Shepard taps on his omni-tool, and Garrus does the same, releasing the antihistamine that will keep them from killing each other as their fluids come into contact. Shepard had learned that with the medication, condoms were unnecessary, so he drops to his knees and takes the turian into his mouth without preamble. Garrus' head falls back and his fingers burrow into Shepard's thick, fluffy hair.

 

That nimble tongue is back to it's old tricks, twirling around the head of the turian's cock, then dragging along the underside. Shepard alternates between hard suction and lightly ghosting his lips up and down the shaft, tongue flicking across the surface. His brown eyes are locked with Garrus' blue ones, and the turian can't contain his shudder as the fabulous heat builds to uncomfortable levels. Garrus knows he's getting close, Shepard knows it, too, if his smirk is anything to go by, and damn it's good to see that lopsided smile again.

 

Rising to his feet, Shepard looks at the console and taps on it to lock it before hopping up to plant his naked ass on it. Garrus huffs a laugh at the childlike glee that spreads over the Commander's face, but then he's pulling the turian closer and his look goes from glee to savage in a moment. “I need you to fuck me, Garrus.” It's worded like a plea, but delivered like a command, and Garrus has never been able to disobey this man. He nods and brings their mouths together, knowing that Shepard appreciates the gesture. Garrus hesitates for a moment, but then the Commander tells him to look in his pants pocket. Of course he brought lube. The turian gives another laugh, and Shepard just shrugs with that damned grin of his.

 

Garrus works him open as Shepard leans back on his elbows, feet braced on the edge of the console to give him room to maneuver. He lets Garrus roughly move him where he wants him to be. Shepard is in charge of everything. He can't even be left alone when he's dead. He doesn't want to be in charge here. Let someone else do the thinking, the planning, the figuring out how the hell it's all going to work. Garrus throws Shepard's legs over his shoulders and grips his hips to slide his ass down to the edge of the console. Tristan grins again and lets his head fall back as the turian sinks into him. He tenses – something he's never done before – and lifts his head to give an apologetic smile. “I think you're taking my virginity here, Vakarian.” His head flops back with a self deprecating laugh. Under other circumstances, Garrus would have laughed as well, but the wounds are still too raw right now.

 

Instead, he pulls out and eases back in until the man is finally loose enough for him to take him fast and rough in their usual manner. Shepard's fingers curl around the edge of the console to keep Garrus from fucking him off the damned thing, and he doesn't even try to keep himself quiet as the turian pounds him. Garrus had tried adjusting his translator once to pick up on the words that Shepard uttered in the throes, but soon gave it up as a lost cause when he realized that most of it was little more than cursing and inane babble that had no literal meaning. The figurative meaning is clear enough.

 

There are times when Shepard is an active participant in their activities, rocking his hips to meet Garrus' thrusts, but other times, he just likes to lay there and take whatever Garrus feels like giving him. Today is the latter. He just wants to be fucked and not have to think. So Garrus fucks him. Hard. And when he shifts into that angle that Shepard loves – and even two years can't erase the way he knows it makes the man go crazy – he's rewarded with the sight of his Commander shooting white hot come all over his own belly. He loves that sight. Loves knowing he can make it happen without ever having to even touch the man's cock. Not that he doesn't love touching Shepard's cock, but still... that sight never fails to tear Garrus' own orgasm from him. A moment later, he's gasping for air as his hips twitch against Shepard's ass, and the Commander is humming in satisfaction.

 

Shepard grasps the turian's face, careful of the sores on the right side, and holds the man's gaze, fingers trailing over the blue clan markings again. He's never shown such fascination with them before, but maybe, like Garrus, he's just wanting to ground himself in the familiar. He lifts his head to press his lips to the turian's mouth, and Garrus slides his arms under the Commander, pulling him closer, needing to maintain this connection for just a little while longer. Shepard nuzzles his face into the turian's neck. Something he'd only done the last few times they'd been together before the accident. His soft lips connect with the leathery flesh, and Garrus purrs in contentment. Shepard laughs, and damn if Garrus hasn't missed that sound.

 

They stay locked in this embrace for several long minutes until Garrus finally softens enough to slip out of him. Shepard makes an almost disappointed noise, and Garrus uses a finger to tip his chin up so that their eyes meet. They watch each other, heedless of the passage of time, until Garrus brings their mouths together again. Shepard attacks him greedily, tongue and teeth taking what they want from the turian. Finally, they break apart, gasping for breath, and Shepard huffs another laugh as he wrestles with himself. He knows he has to go – has a job to do – but for once in his damn life, he wants to be selfish and stay in this moment for all eternity. Let the galaxy go to hell around him.

 

He doesn't though.

 

One last press of lips and a heaved sigh, and he's gently pushing Garrus away, cleaning himself up with his underwear before pulling his clothes back on and stuffing the soiled boxers into his pocket. Another lingering look, and then Garrus is left standing alone in the battery once more.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are the best, and I love you all! Comments and kudos are lifeblood to a fanfic writer. Peace, love, and happiness to each and every one of you. 
> 
> Have some more of our babies doing their thing and being all sweet and sexy!

“Don't worry Shepard. I'm on it. We'll find you the Primarch.”

 

Shepard's brown eyes are glowing with happiness when Garrus' blue ones meet them. “Garrus! Damn it's good to see you.”

 

Six months wasn't as long as two years, but it was still too damned long. Garrus shakes his hand and covers it with the other one, letting them linger just a moment before releasing him. And then he's back to chasing his Commander all over the galaxy in a desperate search for someone, anyone, who can help him finally end this threat once and for all.

 

Garrus knows that Shepard is willing to lay down his life to make sure that future generations never have to live in fear of the reapers. He doesn't want to, but he will. Selfishly, Garrus wants to take every moment he can get with the man. It's only taken him two and a half years to admit to himself and work up the nerve to tell Shepard that he's in love with him. Everything is set up. Nothing to do now but wait.

 

He's leaned against the skycar when he sees his Commander strolling toward him with that lopsided grin that makes his heart lurch in his chest. “Shepard,” he drawls, “thought we could do something fun for a change.”

 

“For a change? I thought we always did something fun,” his expression is lecherous, and Garrus clears his throat and shifts from foot to foot.

 

“I meant in public... something that's _appropriate_ to do in public,” he quickly amends and mutters a curse when Tristan laughs, then shoves the human toward the skycar. “Ever have that one thing you wanted to do before you die, Shepard,” he asks as they drive toward their destination.

 

“I've already woken up with a turian next to me,” he says, ghosting his fingers up Garrus' thigh. The turian can't actually feel it through his armor, but knowing it's happening makes his plates shift anyway.

 

Shepard lets him win the shooting contest. Garrus knows this, but it doesn't stop him from bragging until Shepard calls him the King of the Bottle Shooters, and hurls an empty bottle at him. Garrus laughs as it bounces off and clatters to the floor, rolling off the edge and dropping out of sight. He grabs the human's hand then and pulls him close. “Shepard... Tristan... I...”

 

He's worked all this out in his head, but now his mouth is dry and his words are failing him. Shepard's hand comes up to trace the blue lines on his face, something he's done more and more as time has passed. Garrus wonders if it means the same thing as when he trails his fingers over the newly applied tattoos that cover Tristan's body. He'd wasted little time in having them replaced after waking up in the Cerberus facility. Garrus had relished memorizing each new addition.

 

Now there's a look in Shepard's eyes that Garrus hasn't seen before. Maybe he's just never noticed. But it makes him feel like his heart will burst. “What is it, Garrus? You can tell me anything.”

 

Garrus clears his throat again. “I... want to be a one man turian,” he says at last. “What about you? Are you ready to be a one turian kind of man?”

 

He's quiet for so long that Garrus starts to regret saying anything, but then his soft lips are on Garrus' plates, his tongue invading his mouth in that way that he's come to find not only familiar, but sensuous and loving and perfect all rolled into one. “I am,” he finally confesses, and Garrus breathes a sigh of relief. Shepard's lips curl into a smile that reaches up to his eyes. “I love you, Garrus.”

 

“I love you too, Tristan.”

 

He's glad he thought to bring lube, because Shepard doesn't want to wait to consummate their new arrangement. They crawl into the skycar and fumble around until they're out of their clothes. Shepard sits in his lap with his back to Garrus' chest. Sex in a car would be more easily accomplished if they were both human, Shepard thinks, but he and Garrus have gotten pretty proficient at making sex work. They're actually damned good at it, he thinks with a smirk. Tristan reaches between them to grip Garrus' cock and guide it toward his entrance, then sinks down onto it.

 

They're both panting already, and they need a minute to adjust before they can continue. Garrus is nipping at the skin of his shoulder and neck with his stiff mouth plates, and Shepard thinks they almost feel like teeth. He braces himself, adjusting his feet until he can find enough leverage to bounce up and down on the turian's cock. One hand goes to the roof of the car to keep him from braining himself on the stupid thing. The other curls around the back of Garrus' neck, skating up to that one delicious spot he'd found their very first time together years ago. Garrus growls and it rumbles through Shepard's body, tearing a low groan from him.

 

Garrus' hands are everywhere, as though they can never get enough of Shepard and his smooth skin and the defined lines of muscle that traverse the man's body – and honestly, they can't. Tristan sighs. He loves this touch, craves the feel of those hands – like calloused leather. Every brush of fingers ignites a fire within Shepard that he prays will never be extinguished. Things with the war are coming to a head too rapidly. They haven't had enough time together, and both of them have seen enough war to know that it will be a damned miracle if they both see the other side of this thing. The only thing to do now is to savor the time they do have.

 

Shepard forces out all thought except for the hard body pressed against him, the feel of those roving hands, his lover's cock buried deep inside him. It's been perfect from day one. The way their bodies move in harmony. The way they fit so damn well, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The way Garrus just seems to intuit exactly what Shepard needs from him. There's never been anyone to make him feel the way Garrus does.

 

Slowing his movements, he tries to make it last as long as possible, grinding his ass against his lover's hips. Garrus groans, and Shepard moves his hands to the turian's waist, finding all those secret and hidden places that Tristan has discovered during their time together. Garrus' body is a finely tuned instrument that Shepard has become an expert at playing, wreaking havoc on the turian's vaunted self control. When his subvocals start ringing out of harmony, Shepard knows he has the turian right where he wants him. He picks up the pace again, fucking himself onto Garrus' hard cock until rational thought evaporates and all that's left is the purely physical response and the heat curling through his veins.

 

When the turian grips his cock and starts stroking, Tristan begins his flood of mindless speech that always precipitates his orgasms. Garrus' other hand comes up to play with Shepard's nipple, and that seems to be enough to have him spilling into the turian's hand. Something about the way Shepard's body seizes up, the deep, ragged moans that are torn from his chest when he comes, the sight and feel of the man's seed on their skin, always carries Garrus over the edge with him. He keens loudly as he spurts up into his lover's body, resting his forehead between the man's shoulder blades once he's spent.

 

Shepard cleans Garrus' hand off with his underwear – they never have a towel handy when they need it – and sinks back against his lover, pulling the turians arms until they're wrapped around him. His head falls back to Garrus' shoulder, and the turian rumbles his satisfaction with this arrangement.

 

“How long have you felt this way,” Shepard asks.

 

“Since... you died.”

 

“Why didn't you say something before now?”

 

“Chicken.”

 

Tristan laughs out loud at that, the vibrations of it stirring Garrus' cock that is still buried deep within the man. Shepard feels it and gives a little moan. “Me too,” he confesses, breathless. “I've known since Omega. Since the rocket. I thought-”

 

“Shh... We're both here now. As whole as two old soldiers like us can be.”

 

“Yeah... two old soldiers.” He's quiet for a long time, fingers trailing idly over the turian's arms. “We should probably get back to it, huh?”

 

“Yeah. No rest for the weary, as you humans say.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter... I may be back later with some more of these babies (ideas are churning, anyway.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, bookmarking and just generally encouraging me in my writing endeavors. I'm so beyond thrilled that y'all have loved this fic so much. 
> 
> Here we go... an end... for now...

Shepard is leaning heavily on his cane. He can't walk without it anymore. His days of soldiering are long over. Now he's just a man. A man who used to be a war hero. It's only been ten years since he defeated the reapers, but it feels like a hundred. His body never completely recovered from his injuries after firing the Crucible. At least he's not confined to a wheelchair like he was the first year.

 

He watches his turian husband fumble around in the kitchen looking at each package of food to make sure he doesn't accidentally poison him. Tristan smiles. “I can fix it myself, you know?”

 

“It's your birthday, Shepard,” Garrus still calls him Shepard outside of their more intimate moments even after all this time. “You're not cooking your own breakfast on your damn birthday.”

 

“We could go out?”

 

“You doubt my abilities that much?”

 

“Cooking levo food? Yes.”

 

Garrus clutches his chest. “That hurts, Shepard. That really hurts.”

 

Tristan limps across the room to pull his husband to his lips. “I still love you. And... I know you have skills in more important areas.” His voice drops to that low, husky timbre that always has Garrus' plates shifting. Damn this man! “Why don't you give me what I really want for my birthday?”

 

“A new sniper rifle?” Garrus is grinning smugly.

 

“Is that what we're calling it now?” There's that lopsided grin that the turian has fallen in love with every day for the last ten years or more. “Let me fuck you.”

 

It's so rare that Shepard wants to top that Garrus never tells him no. Especially not on his damn birthday. In fact, the mere mention of it has the turian unplated already, and Shepard gives him a knowing smirk. Damn him again. His many fingers trail the bulge in his husband's pants. It took him five years to get Garrus to wear regular clothes, as opposed to armor, around the house. The idea that sex would be more readily accomplished if it were easier to get him naked went a long way toward convincing him.

 

Tristan steps behind him and reaches around to tug at the drawstrings of Garrus' pajama pants, pulling them over his hips and letting them pool around his leg spurs. Definitely easier than the thousand clamps on his damned armor. He lets his fingers dip between the turians cheeks, grinning when Garrus hisses and spreads his legs a little wider, jutting his hips back to grant more access. “Love you,” Shepard murmurs before dropping to his knees. He won't be able to hold the position very long, but Garrus is somewhat easy when it comes to being fucked. He likes it as much as Shepard does, and Tristan sometimes feels guilty for not doing it for him more often. He was always a greedy son of a bitch, though.

 

The turian cries out when Shepard's tongue touches his opening, flicking back and forth quickly before applying pressure in earnest. Shepard works him open with his tongue, running it around the tight star until spit is dripping down his chin, and then pushing into him. Tristan kneads Garrus' cheeks – which are softer and more pliable than he'd imagined before they became lovers more than twelve years ago – and soon the turian is trembling with need. Shepard gives him a few more laps, more to tease than for any other reason, before slipping first one, then two fingers inside him. Garrus' knees buckle, and Shepard shoves his hand against his ass to hold him steady while he chuckles. He adds his tongue back into the mix and soon Garrus is cursing at him.

 

“Tristan, just fuck me already!”

 

“It's _my_ damn birthday,” Shepard pouts, then bites down on one soft cheek before licking his hole again just for spite. Garrus is groaning, cock twitching, and body shaking before Tristan finally gives in and stands. It takes him a moment to regain his balance and to wait for the throbbing in his leg to subside, but he runs his hands up and down Garrus' waist to keep the turian focused on sex rather than his husband's old war injuries.

 

When the pain eases, he pulls his own pajama pants down and strokes himself a few times to full hardness. They're probably the only people in the galaxy who keep a bottle of lube in the kitchen – truth be told there is at least one in every room of the house. Joker makes a fuss every time he finds one, but either Shepard or Garrus just calmly takes it away from the pilot and puts it back where he'd found it. The rest of their friends have learned not to be nosy. Tristan lubes his cock and lines it up with his husband's entrance. “Ready,” he pants, and Garrus nods, reaching a hand around to squeeze his husband's ass in encouragement.

 

Shepard slides into him with a deep groan. This feels so damn good that he wonders why he doesn't ask to do it more often. Maybe it's time to change things up a bit. Garrus thrusts back against him – a signal for him to hurry his ass up – but Shepard just laughs and rocks forward slowly. “Let me take my time,” he whispers, and Garrus has never been able to deny him a damned thing. His strokes are long and sure, while being slow and tortuous at the same time, and his eyes are glued to the spot where he's disappearing into his husband's body.

 

“Tristan, please,” Garrus finally says, and his voice is wrecked and discordant, and it is enough to spur Shepard to snap his hips forward with so much force that it causes them both to cry out with pleasure. Shepard holds onto his husband's hips and pushes and pulls the turian's body in time with his harsh thrusts. Their breathing is raw and gasping, muttered curses and nonsense rattling out of their chests.

 

Shepard reaches around to take hold of his husband's cock and strokes it in time with his surges, and they race toward the finish together – just like they've always done. “I love you, Garrus,” he manages just before he explodes into the depths of his husband's body.

 

“I love you, too,” the turian gasps, erupting into his husband's hand. It's several moments before either of them can move. When Tristan pulls out, he grins at the mess oozing from his husband and runs a finger through it, smearing it around.

 

“You need a shower,” he says, smacking the turian on the ass, before turning to the sink to rinse his own hands off.

 

“So do you,” the turian says, grabbing the human and bringing their mouths together. “Let's go take care of that together.”

 

“Always knew you had a good head on your shoulders, Vakarian.”

 

Garrus chortles and pulls his pants up before heading to the shower. An hour later, they're seated at a restaurant for breakfast. It's not as common as it was immediately following the war, but it still happens often enough to be a nuisance – at least this time it's a kid and not some creepy stalker type like that Conrad Verner. Shepard signs the kid's autograph book and pats him on the head before throwing his husband under the proverbial Mako by announcing that he is _the_ Garrus Vakarian who had not only fought by his side during the Reaper War but is also the former Primarch of Palaven.

 

Garrus scowls at his husband as the attention now shifts to him. Shepard does it not so much to deflect attention away from himself, but because he is genuinely proud of Garrus' accomplishments and knows the man deserves some recognition. So Garrus can't be too mad. Shepard had retired ten years ago. His injuries wouldn't permit him to fight anymore, and he'd flatly refused to take on any position of leadership. He'd cheerily moved back to Palaven with Garrus once the relays were opened, and was actually glad that he had to wear his armor to move around outside in Palaven's heavy radiation as the weight of it kept him fit and toned, and the pressurization helped alleviate some of the pain he lived with on a daily basis. It isn't unusual for Garrus to come home and find him lying in a lounge chair on the terrace in full armor, napping.

 

Garrus' official retirement was last week. Next week, they are moving to Earth. They already owned a vacation home on Maui. Time to make good on those last, desperate, whispered promises to retire somewhere warm and tropical and live off the royalties from the vids. Shepard's therapist had suggested that writing his memoirs would be cathartic, so he'd done it. The first installment of the movie version had come out a year ago, and while it bore little resemblance to the actual events of Shepard's life, it had earned them a pretty penny. Enough that money will not be an issue when they retire.

 

When the crowd dies down, they finish their breakfast and stroll aimlessly, hand in hand, through one of the parks that Garrus had had rebuilt during his tenure as Primarch. They are finally at a point where they don't have to focus strictly on necessity. Tristan makes his way toward a bench that overlooks the pond, and sits heavily, stretching his sore leg. Garrus pops the seals of his husband's armor and massages the tired muscles for him while Shepard gives him a grateful smile, and his fingers come up to brush over the blue marks on his face. Garrus knows now that the gesture means, “I love you.”

 

He finishes and snaps the armor back into place before taking his seat on the bench next to the man who'd made days like this possible. The man Garrus is lucky enough to call his husband. The turian loops his arm around the human's shoulders, and Shepard shifts over until their bodies are touching and his head can rest against the turian. “This makes it all worth it,” he murmurs, and Garrus hums his agreement.

 

“Wouldn't want to do it all again, though.”

 

Shepard laughs, then brings his hand up to thread his fingers with the ones at his shoulder. “I'd do it all again for you,” he says quietly, and Garrus knows he means it.

 

“So would I, Shepard. So would I.”

 

…End...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to each and every one of you! ~Elle

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read. I'll post a chapter a week - every Wednesday. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: ellebeedarling.tumblr.com
> 
> Much Love,  
> Elle


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